Charms
by It's Just That
Summary: [Shounenai] Years after the war, Basch has to make a decision: to return to Dalmasca and to Ashe, or to stay with Larsa. Restless hearts try to find each other, and Basch slowly realizes that he's not so alone after all.
1. Prologue: Cold Winds Through Nabreus

**Disclaim it**: I don't own it. Square Enix does.

**Warnings**: I have never played FF Revenant Wings. Too bad, but oh well. I've played FFXII, but not FFRW. I feel sad. Beware of the story's irrelevance to some places and total suspicions on a lot of characters' orientation.

**Story Title:** Charms

**Summary**: Years after the war, Basch has to make a decision: to return to Dalmasca and to Ashe, or to stay with Larsa. Restless hearts try to find each other and Basch slowly realizes that he wasn't quite as alone as he originally thought he was…

**A/N:**_I am suddenly inspired to write an FFXII fanfic. This story'll probably be angsty, and it hurts my funny bone just thinking of the angst that I'll put Basch through. I'm such _

_a bastard._

**Extra A/N**: I know Basch and Noah's homelands was the Republic of Landis, but for the sake of all that is holy, let's just make it Nabradia. I'm using all the artistic liberties here…

**Additional Warnings: **Shounen-ai (meaning boy love), and a lot of other things that will be stated later. OH! Angst. Be warned that there will be angst.

**Word goal: **1000

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**Prologue** – _Cold Winds through Nabreus_

The fog over took the lands, slowly creeping up on its hinges and crawling. Mist swirled over his body, and waters that was once pure, ran stagnant, stinking up what was once his homelands. Basch, head bent, reverently cradled his helmet to his chest, sinking his knees into the muddy waters of the Deadlands.

His younger brother, Noah fon Rosenburg, lay there. In that stinking pile of mist infested soil. And who was insane enough to lay a body there for rest? He was. Basch knew where his brother had wanted to be buried, and he did it. With his own bare hands, Basch dug a grave deep into the grounds, and despite the smell, temperature and emotional trauma he went through—

He didn't feel at all sad. Now he had a whole knew burden to bear upon his world weary shoulders. It was up to him, to take up his brother's stead of taking care of the young, naïve Solidor heir. It was up to him to raise the young, blooming boy and make sure he was brought up correctly. And in all honesty, he hadn't wanted any part of it.

At first, Basch wanted to scream at the look of utter resignation on Noah's face—but he was already aware that it was too late—his younger brother was dying. On that day, when Vayne Curadas Solidor had been blasted into oblivion, Basch had wanted to do nothing but curl up into his old room in Rabanastre and pretend that this whole adventure never happened.

But when cold hands clasped to his own, Basch was jolted back into reality. Sweat rolled down his face, and he stared. The hands he was holding were bloody and calloused from countless battles, and it comforted him to hear a familiar, hoarse voice rasping, "Not yet. Don't go." Dazed eyes cracked open, chipped brown staring up into his identical ones. "You must remember this brother: _lose Larsa and we lose the empire_. Protect him. I would entrust him to no other's care."

Basch only nodded, and gripped Noah's hands tightly. "I will keep him from harm. I promise you—for the Empire, and for Dalmasca."

A little chuckle escaped Noah's throat, and he smiled. It was ill-suited to his dying face, and Basch wanted to badly to remember this moment forever. Although he knew this memory would haunt him for days to come, Basch committed it to memory, savoring the last few seconds with his only kin. "Your words put me at ease, brother," Noah remarked softly, smile finally turning into a twisted grimace. "Sorry to leave you brother, but I am tired. Spare a weary soldier your mercy, please."

And then his younger brother had died in front of him. His chest had stopped, and his heart had halted, and then eyes closed and his breathing had evened out. Basch hated the Solidor family, then. For taking away his life, his twin—the only man that knew him inside and out. If he was truly honest with himself though, Basch only hated himself. His helpless, simpering self.

...And now that Basch reflected upon it, all he wanted to do was sleep forever.

To be reunited with his liege and his kin and kith seemed like a wonderful paradise. If only he could grasp that fleeting heaven into his hands.

"Brother," Basch whispered, placing a bundle of roughly-picked flowers onto a bulge in the ground. "I've come here for advice."

A wind blew, and Basch managed a small smile. "So you know, brother. I have come here to ask you about our lord. What am I to do with him? He is growing up and," Basch's smile faded, "I am growing old. No mother or father looks to lord Larsa with the same reverence and respect we do. What shall I do?"

The wind stayed there, gently blowing into Basch's face. It was as if his brother were saying, "Let the matter die. Follow what you know is right."

Basch's hands stiffened and his shoulders slumped.

"I will keep that in mind then, brother." With that, Basch abruptly stood up and stalked to where his liege was sitting, picking at the fine fabric of his tunic. Pale blue eyes regarded him, and a frown was on Larsa's striking visage.

"You took longer than last time, Basch," the young king-to-be noted. "Next time we are to visit your homelands, remind me to bring something to do."

"I apologize for my inconsistency, my lord," Basch instantly replied, bowing. "I shall keep in mind of the hour the next time we are to come here."

"No, no," Larsa waved a hand, and a corner of his lips lifted. "It is quite all right, Basch. I do not mind waiting. It's actually kind of refreshing."

Only someone like you would say that, Basch thought dryly, but instead said:

"As you wish, my lord."

Sweeping his cape to one side, Basch lifted the helmet back onto his head and turned, motioning to Larsa to follow him. The prince—otherwise king in two years—deftly followed, and not a word was exchanged as they boarded the newly constructed airship, Noah.

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**A/N: **And there you have it, the first chapter. Enjoy. ;)

Anyway, if you must know why it's so short, it's because this story is a prompt for me. It'll be a hurdle through my awful writing block! HURRAH!


	2. Chapter One: Questionable Motives

**Disclaim it: **I still don't own FFXII. I suck.

**Warnings**: My overuse of angst. Watch out, kiddos! I allude to much angst in the future. Or maybe randomness, but c'mon. Throw me a bone, will ya?

**A/N**: I love the support. –Hug-

**Word goal: **700

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**Chapter One Title**: Questionable Motives

"Queen Ashelia of Dalmasca has invited us to a celebration," Larsa announced, regal voice echoing throughout the study. "It says on this parchment, that the celebration is to honor her second year of reign."

His regent said nothing, and thus did the soon-to-be-king sigh, clearly at a loss. "She clearly hinted for you to show up—will you?" Larsa persisted further, finely arched eyebrows quirked.

The mug of X-Potion in Basch's hands wobbled noticeably. _Not again_, he thought, body hunched over a glass table in the center of the room. There was only one reason he had left Dalmasca, and that was because he had nothing left to avenge—his homelands were utterly decimated, and his twin had fallen at the hands of his own kingdom—so what did that leave him with? Nothing.

But what was it, that made the bitter and weary man regret his decision to leave Rabanastre and Ashelia? Was it Noah's death or the sparkling blue eyes that pleaded heavily with him?

Basch didn't know.

"Basch, stop mulling your past over and answer me," Larsa murmured, leaning against the marble entryway. He trained his gem-like eyes on the older man and narrowed them imperceptibly. "Asides which, you're required to come with me, so I shouldn't have asked you at all. You are, after all my guardian and regent to Archades."

Basch couldn't help but frown at Larsa's intonation.

"My lord," he started stiffly, "I do not want to go."

"And pray tell why?" Larsa queried, though the prince new fully well why.

_Clever boy_, Basch thought. If he was Larsa's age, he'd have been too busy looking at modeled swords, not questioning other's motives. Basch heaved out a large breath. "Although I must apologize for my forthrightedness, I cannot deny you that this news worries me very much, my lord." Basch ran a hand through his short hair and said quietly, "You know very well that I had ties with this nation, and I am not ready to face what I once lost."

Larsa nodded, satisfied. "Good answer," he acknowledged. "But, my Judge Regent, this is as good as any time to get some closure, fix broken ties and mend them anew. So will you then, Basch?" the prince began to pace, and continued, "Will you let yourself be free for once? Of the boundaries that hold you? Of the limits that bind you and make your mind fetter with unresolved problems? Will you, Basch? Will you please?" Larsa appeared sincere in his request, and Basch hesitated.

Looking at his ward's youthful face reminded the veteran of his own youth. Young, naïve, willing to hope for a change for the better good—yes, he and Larsa had a lot a like.

_So_, he thought, allowing a faint curl of resignation to curl at his lips. What harm was there to go? He'd see Vaan and Penelo, and perhaps even Fran and Balthier. Ashelia was a definite person he'd come into contact with, seeing as though he'd be a royal visitor in her palace. That man all he had to do was avoid her like the Black Plague. And considering that that wasn't hard to do, he'd have no problems evading her.

Even as a little feeling of intuition niggled in his gut, Basch ignored it, placing the mug of Potion on the table.

"I'll go," he finally conceded.

"Very well then," Larsa answered, turning back to walk to his conference room. He motioned, with a gloved hand, for Basch to follow, and the world-weary man did so, carefully masking his face once more.

And not once, on their way to the K'nven, did he catch Larsa's self satisfied smile.

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Wow. I wrote that? –Checks brain waves- Yep. xDD Unfortunately, I didn't reach my 700 goal. ;( I think I'll make up for that by writing an interlude: Larsa's thoughts! HAH! So, there. ;d


	3. Interlude: Larsa's Thoughts

**Disclaim it**: I don't own FFXII. I still suck.

**Interlude**: Larsa's thoughts

**Warnings**: Deviousness. And all from our girly-little prince.

**Word goal: **500

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Oft times, Larsa caught the other judges, looking at him. It wasn't in any matter akin to the ones that Vayne or his elder brothers gave him, but it was one that he was familiar with—_suspicion_. At first, Larsa believed that he was being paranoid—his judges wouldn't be so wary as to be suspicious of him! But then, Larsa realized that it wasn't because he was paranoid—

It was because of how he looked.

He remembered Anden's words, from the time of his conception, to the very day it was now: _"What a pity you were born a boy. You would've been better off as a girl." _ He hadn't believed his elder brother then, and now—well, he was a firm believer now.

Thus, Larsa tried to do everything more masculine—from the way he dressed, to his hair—and the results were a sad, pitiful thing to his bruised and princely ego. His long hair (which he cut to look more like Vaan's) was artfully mussed, but not the way he wanted it to be. His clothes (he had changed them to Archadian full regalia) were awfully too tight on his sixteen year old body and he—for the life of him—couldn't get his kohl or fingerless gloves on right!

When Basch had caught wind of his attempt to gain more acceptance into the male part of society, the man had laughed it off and ruffled Larsa's hair affectionately, saying, "It is only a matter of time until you are fully grown, my prince. Do not rush anything."

And from then on, Larsa was pissed.

Sure he looked a bit (quite the understatement if he did say so himself) girly, but that did not mean he wasn't as capable as those… those more masculine than him! He could knock an arrow, he could rough it out in the wilderness, and what he knew he could do better than any masculine man was dance.

All right, so that wasn't a total masculine area of affinity, but he tried his best.

Larsa just wanted everyone to accept him.

Four years after a war and still, no one wanted to accept him for the girly boy he was? Didn't they realize that all his brothers before him (Anden, Josin, and Vayne) were just—if not on par—with his girlishness? Seriously, Anden enjoyed steam baths, and Josin liked singing—and Vayne? Well he loved to dress up. And he, Larsa, liked to be himself, to the utter most possibility.

He stared at himself.

Clear, pale blue eyes stared back into his. Arched eyebrows that he had somehow inherited from a bygone relation, made the expression on his face somewhat grave, as if he were in constant grief. His straight nose created the illusion of imperiousness, and he cursed his genes for it. Thin lips completed his inherently royal visage. And though he had a narrow chin and semi-high cheekbones, he still couldn't understand why everyone thought he looked girly. He looked perfectly normal, thankyouverymuch.

"Damnit," he muttered, bringing his fist to shatter the mirror in front of him. The only girl that had ever told him that he was handsome was Penelo, and even then, the idiot girl was humoring him. What he did not need was another proverbial suck-up. He needed a friend, and not someone cooing over how 'cute' he looked in his new get-up.

"I hate my life," he mumbled, wiping the blood off his fist. He knew the first thing he'd do after this bath: _spy on Basch._ That man had always made him feel better (in more ways than one).

With a small sigh, Larsa stepped out of his bathing chambers, and readied himself for his small spying session. As always.

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Mwhahah. I loved this chapter, no offense. It just made much more sense to all those freaky PeneloxLarsa lovers that PENELO is a bimbo, and is therefore useless to all male characters. Yes, I hate her in the game, and I hadn't bothered to level her up in FFXII. Penelo is an awful character that I never really liked, all right? So don't mind me. I won't bash her for the rest of the story. ;)


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